


Forsaken

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ironhorse tangles with an alien...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forsaken

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #12 under the pen name Gillian Holt.

_"Well, you know, Colonel, as I've told you before, it is turtles, all the way down…"_

 

          The battle-din faded to a dull rattle as Ironhorse's attention narrowed to the alien trying its damnest to kill him.  The creature reached out, one manicured human hand gripping the colonel's throat, the other grinding a death grip down onto his right wrist.  The pressure forced the soldier's fingers open, his M9 slipping free.

          Ironhorse growled low in his throat, trying to twist away.  The alien's inhuman strength made escape impossible.  With his free hand he reached for the battle baton that rested in its sheath.  His fingers curled around the cool hilt as the alien's third hand burst free of the host's buxom chest.

          At first Ironhorse thought the third appendage would go for the knife, but it shot straight for his shoulder instead.

          A flash of pain and liquid fire erupted in his shoulder, raging straight to the base of his skull where it exploded.  White and yellow spots strobbed, obscuring his vision.  His knees flexed, but held.  Mouth opening, Ironhorse knew he was trying to scream, but the sound caught in the back of his throat.  He gagged, only a low moan escaping the constriction.

          A wave of foreign thoughts and sensations swept over Ironhorse, leaving his thoughts disconnected and adrift – an explosion of pain-anger-fear.  Paul curled in on himself, his arms wrapping around his mid-section.

          He was falling… but where?

_Am I dead?_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          From a safe distance, surrounded by their Omegan guards, Harrison and Suzanne stared in horror as the alien bore down on Ironhorse.  The short but intense hand-to-hand battle ended abruptly as the blended Dolly Parton look-alike shoved a hand into the colonel's shoulder.

          "Oh my God," Suzanne gasped, grabbing onto Harrison's jacket.

          "Colonel!" the astrophysicist yelled.

          A single shot convulsed Ironhorse and his attacker.  The alien screamed, her peroxide-blonde head snapping back as she started to dissolve.  Both fell, writhing in their apparent death throes.

          Harrison and Suzanne bolted forward, only to be stopped by the soldiers.  "Out of my way," Blackwood demanded.

          "Not until we get an all-clear," Coleman said, equally determined.

          "Medic!" someone bellowed.

          "We have an all-clear," Stein said.

          Coleman stepped aside, allowing the two civilians to sprint to the fallen colonel, she and Stein on their heels.

          Derriman knelt over Ironhorse's too-still body, taking a pulse.  "He's alive," he said to no one in particular.

          Stein spoke into the radio.  "This is Stein, get me the Medavac up ASAP."

          Goodson pounded to a stop, dropping to the ground, his hands already tearing into his field kit.

          "Pulse is faint and fast," Derriman told the medic.

          "Move back," Goodson snapped, soldiers and civilians responding instantly.  The medic checked the colonel's airway, pulse, then took his blood pressure.

          The others watched, wrapped in an almost surreal horror as Ironhorse's eyes opened, but remained unseeing.  He trembled, his face flushing as he witnessed some invisible terror.

          "Colonel?" Goodson called quietly.

          Ironhorse blinked rapidly, his gaze finally locking on the medic's.

          "Sir?"

          "T-tingling," Ironhorse shuddered, thickly, panting for breath.  "Pins 'n needles… everywhere… hurts…"

          "Sir—"

          Before Goodson could ask another question, Ironhorse groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as pain shot through his abdomen.  His fingers clawed at his mid-section, and he drew in a long wheezing breath.  "Where…?  W-where am I?" he managed.

          "Easy, sir," Goodson said, filling a syringe.  "You're gonna be fine."

          Ironhorse choked, then coughed to clear his constricting throat.  He fidgeted, his head rolling side to side.  Goodson grabbed one of Ironhorse's arms, jerking his sleeve up and jabbing a needle into the exposed skin.  He squeezed in the clear liquid.

          "Sarge, hold his feet up," the medic instructed.

          Derriman dropped down, sitting cross-legged on the ground.  Reaching out, he lifted Ironhorse's legs by the feet, resting the colonel's ankles on his shoulders.

          "What's wrong?" Blackwood asked.

          "Anaphylactic shock from the looks of it," Goodson said as he continued to work, applying a constricting band to the colonel's shoulder and monitoring his airway.  "Low BP, paresthesia, coughing, difficulty breathing, disorientation, swelling of the throat…"  He slipped an oxygen mask over the colonel's mouth and started a flow from the small bottle.

          "What did you give him?" Blackwood asked, he and Suzanne daring to move closer.  In the distance they could hear the chopper approaching.

          "Epinephrine," Goodson said, his forehead wrinkling with concern as the colonel sucked in a squeaking wheeze.  "Damn it, his airway's still constricting.  I'm going to have to—"

          "Chopper's here, can we get him on board?" Derriman asked.

          Goodson glanced over his shoulder.  The chopper settled to the ground.  "Let's go," he barked to Derriman.

          Coleman and Stein pushed past the civilians, grabbing arms and legs.  The four lifted the apparently unconscious officer and trotted to the chopper.  Harrison and Suzanne trailed them, climbing onboard after Ironhorse was settled.

          "Go!" Derriman yelled, and the chopper lurched off.

          Goodson continued to work feverishly while Derriman elevated the colonel's legs using a box of equipment.  "He's out," the medic said.  "Tongue's swelling…"  He dug into the field kit.

          "What are you going to do?" Harrison asked over the motor noise.

          "Put in an endotracheal tube while I still can," Goodson replied.  He looked up, meeting Derriman's gaze.  "Get everyone back so I can work."

          "Come on," the sergeant urged, moving Blackwood and Suzanne back to one of the padded benches at the far side of the chopper.  "Have a seat, let Seth work."

          "How long to the hospital?" Suzanne asked.

          Derriman checked his watch.  "Seven, maybe ten minutes."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Some of the Ft. Irwin emergency room staff met them on the roof, transferring Ironhorse onto a gurney and wheeling him away, Goodson rattling off everything he'd done for the colonel in the field.  Several of the soldiers secured the roof, several more fanning into the hospital for a thorough sweep.  Derriman and Coleman escorted the two civilians into the hospital and to a waiting room.

          Suzanne glanced around the nondescript off-white room.  Several comfortable couches were arranged to take advantage of picture windows that opened onto the southern California desert.  "Where are we?" she asked.

          "Fort Irwin," Derriman supplied.  "It's half an hour or so northwest of Barstow, about halfway between Las Vegas and Los Angeles."

          "Never heard of it," Harrison stated, trying to make conversation.

          "It's the Army's National Training Center," Derriman continued.  "And they've got the Goldstone Deep Space Tracking System here."

          "Ahh," Blackwood replied, recognizing the name.  "Norton's familiar with their computer system," he added.

          Derriman and Coleman exchanged I-was-afraid-of-that glances.

          "I'll see about getting us some coffee," Coleman offered.

          "We need to contact Norton," Suzanne said, starting to stand.

          "It's been taken care of," Derriman reassured her.

          Suzanne dropped back into her seat, already tired of waiting.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Who's in charge here?"

          The two Project members jumped, then pushed themselves out of their seats as Coleman answered.  "Sergeant Coleman, Omega Squad, Doctor.  Colonel Ironhorse is our CO."

          Derriman gestured to Harrison and Suzanne in turn, adding, "Doctors Blackwood and McCullough, the civilian members of our unit.  I'm Derriman."

          An Asian man in his thirties, file tucked under his arm, nodded.  "I'm Major Jong.  If you'll follow me down to a conference room, we can talk."

          The foursome trailed after the physician, finally taking seats in a small but comfortable room with several leather chairs arranged around a polished table.  Jong used a phone intercom to request coffee, a young man in hospital whites arriving several minutes later with a carafe and five cups.

          The Project members helped themselves, settling into chairs and waiting for the physician to begin.

          "Your medic is good," Jong said, sliding into a chair himself.  "Colonel Ironhorse went into anaphylactic shock, the result of an exposure to… substance unknown."  He met Coleman's concerned gaze.  "Corporal Goodson wasn't much of help in identifying that substance."

          "I'm sorry, sir," she replied, "but that's strictly need to know."

          "So Corporal Goodson said, and at this point I don't really need to know, but I might."

          Coleman nodded.  "I'll make a call."

          Jong nodded.  It was the best he could hope for at the moment.

          "How is he?" Suzanne asked.

          "We have him in ICU.  He stopped breathing on us, but we've stabalized him and have him on a treatment of antihistamines and cortiosteroids that seem to be helping.  Right now I'm more worried about his fever, which is climbing.  He's got some severe abdominal pain, and it looks like rigors might be setting in."

          "Rigors?" Harrison queried.

          "Attacks of severe shivering followed by drenching sweats and a drop in body temperature.  Then the fever spikes up again.  It's mild for the moment, but I don't like the trend.  We're also watching for febrile seizures, trying to keep him cool with sponge-baths, but beyond that I don't know what I can do.  I'm a little hesitant to use anti-pyretic drugs until I know what caused the shock reaction."

          "Sergeant," Harrison said to Coleman, "make that call."

          She nodded.  "I'll be right back."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jong stared down at his patient.  It was difficult… no, almost impossible to believe that less than an hour ago Colonel Paul Ironhorse had almost been taken over by an alien from outer space.  Regardless of the difficulty, it was clear that the colonel was suffering from the encounter now.  The rigors continued between periods of spiking fever, and the officer was experiencing some spectacular hallucinations from the looks and sounds of it.

          Ironhorse panted, then shivered beneath the sweat-drenched sheet, his flushed face tight with pain.  Reaching out, Jong checked the soldier's skin, which was still extremely hot to the touch.

          The colonel's head rolled, and he moaned.  Headaches, the physician guessed.  If Ironhorse regained consciousness the major was sure he'd be confused, if not delirious.  He pressed the intercom to the nurse's station.  "Annie, can you get some soft restraints for Colonel Ironhorse?"

          "Right away, Doctor," a young woman's voice replied.

          If they could just keep the colonel from getting seizures or slipping into a coma, it was a good bet he'd fight this off.  There really wasn't anything else he could do.

          Annie stepped into the room, and together they secured Ironhorse's wrists.

          "Don't want him pulling out the IVs," Jong said.

          Annie nodded.  "It's time for me to sponge him down, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Wrapped in a black world of pain and terror, Ironhorse felt like he was falling… falling… falling…

          Light exploded around and through him and he tried to shield his face.  He landed with a hard thud.  Absolute silence swallowed him.

          Slowly he uncurled from a fetal position, blinking owlishly at his surroundings – a forest, mixed pine and hardwoods; early morning from the position of the sun.  Birds chirped, and somewhere a crow cawed.  A soft breeze whiffled through the branches, disturbing the silence.

          He stood, wondering why the trees seemed so large.  Glancing down, he realized that it wasn't the trees, it was him.  He was… short.

 _No_ , he corrected himself.  He was… a boy?  Examining his hands and body, he guessed his age to be about six.  The scuffed sneakers were an old favorite.  He grinned.

          A hand grabbed his shoulder, the fingers curling viciously into tender flesh.  He flinched away, crying out, "Stop!"

          "You thought you could get away, did you?"

          Paul's head snapped up, eyes rounding in fright.  An ancient woman held him, her face dark brown and so wrinkled her eyes looked like black jewels set in the deep folds.  Her hair, a wispy silver-white, danced in the breeze.  She grinned at Paul, her tobacco-stained teeth sharp and animal-like.

          "You know who I am, boy?" she asked.

          Paul shook his head, knowing for a fact that he'd never seen her before, so he certainly hadn't been trying to get away… could he?

          She spun him around, and holding up one hand, folded down all her fingers except one.  The index finger stood up, gnarled and brown, a long claw-like fingernail tipping it like a dagger.

          He wanted to run, but couldn't.

          With a cackling laugh, she pointed her finger at his shoulder, then pushed the nail in.

          He squealed and squirmed, but still couldn't wrest himself free and escape.

          She laughed.  "Now do you know?" she demanded.

          "Spear-finger!" he screamed.  "Spear-finger!  Let me go!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Paul lifted his head slowly.  It felt much heavier than it should and his shoulder ached with a deep dull throb.  Glancing furtively around, he discovered a small dusty clearing surrounded by a dark and foreboding forest.  He was tied against a smooth rock face, his arms spread, his wrists encircled with leather thongs.  He tugged against them, but they held fast.

          A soft hissing sound caught the boy's attention and Paul's head snapped around.  "Get away," he said, one sneaker-clad foot kicking out.

          The approaching goose took another waddle forward, her neck snaking forward to peer at him.

          "Get away, you uptight ol' bird!"

          The goose stopped, announcing, "I am _not_ old, and I am _not_ up-tight!"  She added a perturbed, "Honk!"

          Paul's black eyes rounded, giving him a decidedly pixie-like look.  There was something familiar about the goose, but he couldn't fathom what.

          "Whaddaya want?" he demanded.

          "To help you," the goose said, waddling forward.  She stopped next to him, her blunt beak nibbling at the leather knot.  "But I can't," she complained.

          "Hurry up, that ol' witch is comin' back!"

          Paul sucked in a breath as a sleek mountain lion leaped into the clearing from the overhang above the boy's head.

          "Help!"

          "Shhhhh," the goose scolded, "it's just Norton."

          "Norton?" Paul squeaked.  "That's a mountain lion!"

          Paul was sure the big cat was grinning – probably deciding what kind of dinner a kid and a goose was going to make.

          "Chill, kid, we're gettin' you out of here."  The tawny head swiveled back and forth as he scanned the tree line.  "That is, if we can get you free before _she_ gets back."

          "Better hurry.  She's still coming this way."

          A second sharp breath.  "Help!" Paul cried.  "Go away!  All of you!"

          The nearly full-grown wolf cocked her head to the side.  "Hey, what's up?  He's just a kid."

          "Debi, come over here and see if you can chew through these straps," the goose honked.

          "Sure, Mom."

          "Mom?  Who are you?"  Paul was very confused.  His shoulder throbbed painfully and a shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds, making him too hot.  He wanted to lie down and sleep, but he couldn't.

          "Paul?  Paul, are you listening to me?"

          "Huh?" he replied, blinking until the goose shifted into focus again.

          "I said, we're your friends.  We're here to help you escape."

          The echo of a cackling laugh drifted into the clearing from the dark forest.

          The mountain lion's ears flattened back against his head and he showed his long, sharp teeth.  The wolf galumphed forward, trying to nose her way under the goose's wing.  The bird honked, and pecked the cub's nose.

          "Hey, that hurt!"

          "Sorry," the goose said, sticking her neck out to get a better look at the cub's snout.  "You're okay."  She shook her tail feathers.

          "Suzanne, where's Harrison?" Norton asked.

          "I don't know.  He was behind me, but…"

          "He's soooo slow," Debi complained, her head coming up.  "I think she's coming."

          "You're right, Deb," Norton agreed, leaping back to the rocky overhang above Paul's head.  "We'd better hide.  Hang in there, kid.  We'll be back as soon as we can."

          Debi pounced into a thick patch of undergrowth and disappeared.

          "Wait!" Paul cried.  "Aren't you gonna help me?"

          "We will be back as soon as we can," Suzanne reassured the boy.  "Just be strong.  She won't kill you."

          "She won't?"

          "No," the goose said, then beat her wings, kicking up a swirl of dust that made his eyes water.  When he dared to open them again, Spear-finger stood before him, her hands on her hips.

          "So, you tried to escape, eh?"

          "No!" Paul lied.

          "You can't lie to me, boy," the withered old woman snapped.  "I can see every thought in your head."

          She poked his already sore shoulder with her gnarled nail.  He twisted under the attack, then tried kicking her.  "Stop!" he cried.

          "You're mine now, Paul Ironhorse.  I'll do with ya what I please."  She yanked her claw-nail free, spun and stormed off.

          Paul watched her go, tears welling up in his eyes.  He forced them back, refusing to give in to the fear.  He would get free.  The animals had promised him.

          He bent his head down and wiped his cheek against his shoulder, rubbing the tears away.

          "She gone?"

          Paul jumped, but relaxed when he saw it was only the wolf cub.  "Yeah, she's gone."

          "Wow, you look different," the wolf said.

          "Whaddaya mean?"

          "You're older," she said.  "More like me."

          Paul wasn't sure if he should be happy or concerned.  Looking down at his chest and legs, he guessed he was about sixteen.  How was that possible?

          "You're cute, too," the cub said, stepping forward to sniff tentatively at his crotch.  "But different."

          He blushed, trying to avoid the wolf's intense scrutiny.  "Where are the others?" he asked her, hoping that would turn her attention.

          "Oh, they're comin'."

          "Correction, we're here," Norton corrected, leaping down from the rocky overhang.  His tail twitched as he tested the air.  "Come on, Suzanne, we haven't got a lot of time."

          "Oooh, he _is_ cute, isn't he?"

          Paul glanced around, looking for the goose, but she was nowhere to be found.

          "That's the same thing I said," Debi replied, dumping her haunches into the dust.  She panted and her tail wagged, sweeping a cloud of dust up.

          Something supple and soft twined around Paul's leg.  He jerked, sending the small creature flying off.

          "Umph!"  A lithe otter rolled over, shook fiercely, then stood up, resting on her back haunches, her front paws tucked coyishly across her chest.  "Now, is that any way to treat a lady?"

          "Huh, sorry?" Paul said.  "I thought you were a goose."

          "I am _not_ a goose," the otter chattered irritably.

          "Only when you're…"  Debi trailed off, reconsidering her comments in light of her mother's fixation on her wolf-tail.

          "Uptight."

          "I am _not_ uptight!" Suzanne proclaimed with a chirp.

          Paul tried to find the source of the comment, but couldn't.

          "Come on, Suzanne, get to work on those leather straps," Norton said.

          "He'll kick me," she complained.

          "No, I won't," Paul promised.  "I'm sorry.  You just startled me before."

          "Okay," the otter said, bounding forward.  Her claws dug into Paul's jeans and shirt as she pulled herself up to his shoulder.  From there she maneuvered carefully down his arm and started chewing on the leather that bound him.

          She was heavier than he'd expected and it wasn't long until his arm was trembling.

          On a distant hill a shrill whinny echoed down to them.

          "Great, that old hag must be on her way back," Norton snarled, lunging forward to the edge of the dusty clearing.  He crouched close to the ground, listening and sniffing the breeze.

          "I'm going as fast as I can," Suzanne said around a mouthful of hide.

          Paul groaned.  The otter's weight made his shoulder scream, and sweat dropped off his chin.  It was so hot…

          "Hurry."

          The unknown voice again.  Where was that coming from?  "Who's that?" Paul asked Debi through gritted teeth.

          "That's Harrison."

          "Harrison?"

          "Yep, he's almost here.  I told you he's slow."

          "Here comes the ol' lady," Norton hissed.  "Let's move!"

          Paul watched the mountain lion and wolf bound into the brush.  The otter backed up his arm, then slithered down his clothes to the ground.

          "Hey!" he called.  "Wait!"

          "We'll be back," Suzanne promised before following in the others into the brush.

          "I'll wait with you."

          "Harrison?" Paul called softly, his gaze scanning the clearing for any sign of Spear-finger.

          "That's me."

          "Where are you?" he asked, his eyes still trained on the dark woods.

          "Down here."

          Paul's gaze shifted, and he scrutinized the dusty ground.  Was he the ground?  A bug?  "Where?"

          "Here, by your right foot."

          Paul looked.  A turtle rested beneath the lowest leaves of a bush.  Now and again he bit off a bite of the leafy green and chewed.

          "You're a turtle?"

          "Sure looks like it."

          "So, you're still trying to get away, are you?" Spear-finger tsked as she shuffled into the clearing.

          This time Paul swallowed his retort, and glowered at the old woman.  She grinned and moved closer.

          Using the tip of her twisted claw finger, she traced a feather-light trail down the side of his cheek and cooed.  He shivered, but ground his teeth tight and refused to react.

          She cackled.  "Aw, you are a looker, Paul Ironhorse," she said almost wistfully.  "In my younger days I might have taught you a thing or two."

          The nail tracked lower, moving down his chest to rest on the waist of his jeans, just above the fly button.

          "No—" he said, then stopped himself.  He would not plead with her.

          She poked his abdomen.  "Nothing like fresh young meat to feed a hungry old woman…"

          "What do you want with me?" Paul asked, refusing to meet her hungry gaze. He felt dirty and disgusted.

          "Nothing you'd understand," she snapped, insulted that her advances repulsed him.

          With speed he didn't think she possessed, Spear-finger buried her wicked claw in his shoulder again.  Despite his best intentions, Paul groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the pain.  Where were his supposed friends now?  Why weren't they helping him?

          Another distant whinny, and Paul forced himself to endure the old woman's torture.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Consciousness returned slowly.  At first it was just a vague awareness, and a distant, odd sound.  He focused on that and followed it.  Forcing his eyes open, he was only mildly surprised to find the wolf-cub standing on a rock, licking his shoulder.

          "Ow," he grouched.

          The wolf jumped down.  "Sorry," she said.  "I was just trying to help."

          "I know," Paul said.  "It's just—"

          "Okay, come on, Suzanne, let's get that leather taken care of," the mountain lion ordered, leaping in from the trees and immediately stalking back and forth across the small clearing.

          "Mmmm," was the otter's reply.  She wound her way back up Paul's leg, and out onto his arm.  She gave his wrist a comforting lick, then set to work.

          Paul frowned slightly.  He had aged again, how much he wasn't sure, but it was enough so he could easily support the otter's weight.  He looked at his other bound wrist and tried pulling.

          "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

          Paul looked down at the turtle.  "Why not?"

          "It'll just make the knots tighter, cut off the circulation," Harrison explained.

          As much as he hated to admit it, his efforts had done exactly that.  Paul felt the first tingles that told him his hand was going numb.  He sighed.

          "Can't you go any faster?" Paul asked the otter.

          "I'm chewing as fast as I can," Suzanne scolded.

          "Sorry," Ironhorse said, "I know you are."

          Debi climbed back up on the rock and set to work on his bloody shoulder.  "I'll go really careful," she promised.

          "Okay."

          "Almost through," Suzanne said, her hind-end rising slightly and wiggling as she maneuvered for a better position to finish off the thong.

          Paul chuckled.

          "What?" the otter asked, looking over her shoulder.

          Ironhorse's cheeks turned pink.  "Uh, nothing…"

          Suzanne's eyes narrowed perceptibly.

          "It's just your… hindquarters," Paul said, trying his best to be diplomatic.  "It was… wiggling, and… it was… cute."

          The otter's head came up with a start, front paws immediately covering her nose like she was praying.  In a flash, she fluttered to the ground, a goose.  "Honk!"

          "Oh, great!" Norton roared.  "Suzanne, that was a compliment!"

          "I know," she said, embarrassed.  "It's just—"

          "Mom!" Debi said, leaping down.  "There she is!"

          The three charged into the undergrowth, leaving Paul alone.  He watched Spear-finger stomping toward him.  She was mad, really mad.

          "So!  I knew it!  You _are_ trying to escape!  And you have help!"

          "No, they're just—"

          "Eeeeee!" she shrieked.  Her hands, as fast as snakes, darted out, tearing open his shirt – a tiger-stripped fatigue shirt, he noticed in passing.

          The claw sunk into his shoulder, and she twisted it unmercifully.

          Paul moaned, the sound exploding into a scream as she forced the claw even farther into his flesh.

          Spear-finger took a step back.  "I'll cut you open," she hissed, waving her bloody claw in front of his face.  "String your innards up on the bushes for the crows!"

          "No!" he gasped.  He'd seen men die like that.  It was a slow and agonizing death…

          She cackled maliciously and poked at his exposed belly.  He sucked in the muscles, his skin crawling.  Small drops of blood welled up and ran down to his fatigues, fading into the material.

          "No, that's too good for you," she decided aloud.  "I know a better way."

          Turning, she stormed out of the clearing.

          His head dropped back against the rock, his eyes dropping closed.  He sighed in relief.

          "Wouldn't get my hopes up," Harrison commented from beneath his bush.  "Sounds like she's gone off to come up with something even worse."

          " _Nothing_ could be worse than dying like that.  I know.  I've seen it."

          "We're _not_ going to let that happen," Norton assured him.  "Looks like he's back to normal."

          "It certainly does," Suzanne agreed, waddling in next to Harrison's bush.

          Paul couldn't tell much about his supposed changes except he was wearing a different uniform.  Nothing made sense.  His age, this place, these animals…

          "Let's get back to the saving his life stuff," Norton suggested.  "I've always loved this sort of thing."

          "The way you keep running away," Paul accused, "I figured you were just going to let her kill me."

          "Absolutely not," Harrison concurred.  "Saving your life is the least I can do for the man who was willing to give me mouth to mouth resuscitation."

          "I did?" Paul asked.

          "You almost did," Harrison replied.  "I didn't need it."

          "To a turtle?"

          Harrison's sigh was audible.

          "Oh-oh," Debi said, her nose poking out from under a bush.  "I think she's coming back."

          "You stay there," Suzanne squawked at Debi, her wings unfolding slightly.

          "Aw, Mom, I never get to do anything!"

          "Do as you're told," was the stern reply, punctuated by a "Honk!  Or else!"

          "I have you all now!" Spear-finger screamed, swirling into the clearing like a harpy.

          Ironhorse jerked on the leather thongs, the one the otter had chewed on snapping.  At least he had one hand free.

          Spear-finger moved in on them.  Norton and Suzanne stood their ground in front of Paul, the mountain lion snarling and spitting, the goose honking and hissing.

          The apparition slowed her attack, taking several steps backward.  The pair did make a convincing – if unlikely – threat.

          Paul took the opportunity to work the knot securing his other wrist, but his earlier tugging had made it impossible to untie.

          From the corner of his eye he saw Harrison leave his hiding place and trudge slowly out in front of the bound man.

          "What are you doing?" Ironhorse demanded.

          "Helping save your life," Harrison explained patiently.

          "Get back in that bush!"

          "Faith, Colonel, you just have to have a little faith.  Send her on!"

          "Aaaaaaa!" Spear-finger screamed as the mountain lion and goose moved apart.

          Paul's gaze locked on Spear-finger's.  With a sickening tear, an alien third hand broke free of her chest.  She charged forward.

          "Get back!" Paul yelled to the others.  "Get away!  She's an alien!"

          The animals lunged away from the monster, except for Harrison, who simply pulled his legs and head into his shell.

          Spear-finger continued her charge forward, all three hands sporting a single, thick, long claw that she had aimed for his heart.

          "Now, Paul Ironhorse, you are mine!"

          Paul knew exactly what was going to happen next.  He wasn't exactly sure how he knew, but he did.  One step… two… three… then…

          Spear-finger tripped over Harrison.

          She fell, the ground opening to swallow her into the  blackness.  A shrieking wail followed her into the abyss.

          Harrison poked his head out, small beady blue eyes blinking happily.  He chuckled.

          "Wha—?  What happened?" Paul asked as the ground returned to normal and the leather holding him disintegrated into dust.

          "Oh, it's fine, now," Harrison reassured him.  "After all, it is turtles… all the way down."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse drew in a ragged breath and forced his eyes opened.

          "Hey, he's awake!"

          "Shh, Debi, not so loud."

          "Way to go, Big Guy.  We knew you'd make it."

          "Absolutely, but you really do have to tell us what all that muttering in Cherokee was about."

          "He must've been having nightmares."

          "Debi, shhh."

          "Mom…"

          Ironhorse blinked, then reached up to rub his eyes; the images did not fade. He was surrounded by faces, human faces, superimposed with animals…

          Norton the mountain lion.

          Suzanne the otter-goose.

          Debi the wolf cub, cuddled up next to her mother.

          And Harrison, the…

          "Turtle?" Paul choked out.  Had it been a dream?  A hallucination?  He was obviously in the hospital, but—

          Harrison's blue eyes widened, and he stood up straighter, folding his arms across his chest.  "Turtles?" he asked.

          Paul nodded.  "A turtle…"

          Harrison grinned.  "Well, you know, Colonel, as I've told you before, it is turtles, all the way down…"

          "Norton," Paul croaked, black eyes narrowing.

          "Yeah?"

          "Where's my tomahawk?"


End file.
